


Yearning

by EvancexLizzie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Post-Timeskip, i wrote this the day before ch 394 got out can ya believe it, they're in love ur honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvancexLizzie/pseuds/EvancexLizzie
Summary: Kiyoomi carefully examines the brunette’s face, a sight he hasn’t seen in weeks, a sight sufficient to make his heart flutter and his insides burn. He wonders if his hair is shorter than the last time they met, or if his skin has always been this neat, this smooth and delicate. Maybe Wakatoshi started using the cream Kiyoomi gifted him for his birthday last year. He should compliment him on that, or on anything because Wakatoshi deserves every compliment, because Wakatoshi is strong, beautiful and gentle, because Wakatoshi is a force that never wavers, stable and concrete.Because he's been in love with Wakatoshi Ushijima for as long as he can remember.Yet, Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything, his gaze lowering to watch the large, toughened fingers massage his hands with attention and devotion.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 132





	Yearning

**Author's Note:**

> okkk guys i wrote and finished this before ch 394 got out. I saw someone speaking abt the leak on tw mentioning sakusa and ushijima AND DREAMT OF THE CHAPTER bc i was so stressed (ushijima and sakusa are both in my top4 HQ!! characters AND IT MEANS A LOT) and woke up w this fic idea 
> 
> i still added a few elements from the chapter afterward. this has been beta-readed by the amazing iggy, thx for beta-reading even if u dont read haikyuu!! u're the sweetest
> 
> hope you enjoy it, im soft for those 2 disasters

“Can I see your hands please?”

It’s quiet, polite, toneless.

It’s  _ familiar _ . 

Kiyoomi raises his arms and presents the strong, calloused hands, whose nails have been perfectly trimmed and whose skin has suffered the hardship of being washed far too many times for its own good. He carefully watches his boyfriend’s reaction as the latter takes the black-haired man’s hands in his owns and caresses the redden tumefactions caused by their last game and the time Kiyoomi spent in the bathroom afterward, trying to wash away the dirt that seems to have merged with the surface of his body. 

He waits for a reaction, for the usual treatment he gets from strangers. He waits for a judgemental twitch of eyebrows or a paternalistic scolding, for incomprehension and confusion and mockery. 

He waits for reactions he’s so used to hear and see that he still has a hard time remembering Wakatoshi never said any of those things and never had any of those reactions.

They’ve known each other for years, since they met in this bathroom on that fateful day, and Wakatoshi never demonstrated any of these quite understandable feelings. He never treated him as the  _ freak _ he certainly is, and never showed contempt for those weird mannerisms that have been plaguing the former Itachimaya student’s life for as long as he can remember.

His touch is caring, the ghost of a caress against abused skin, the strong thumbs drawing relaxing circles on the palms of his hands. Wakatoshi is focused on his ministrations, his face showing no emotion as his eyes are strongly fixated on his boyfriend’s wrecked fingers that have certainly seen enough for the day. 

Kiyoomi carefully examines the brunette’s face, a sight he hasn’t seen in weeks, a sight sufficient to make his heart flutter and his insides burn. He wonders if his hair is shorter than the last time they met, or if his skin has always been this neat, this smooth and delicate. Maybe Wakatoshi started using the cream Kiyoomi gifted him for his birthday last year. He should compliment him on that, or on anything because Wakatoshi deserves every compliment, because Wakatoshi is strong, beautiful and gentle, because Wakatoshi is a force that never wavers, stable and concrete.

Because he's been in love with Wakatoshi Ushijima for as long as he can remember.

Yet, Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything, his gaze lowering to watch the large, toughened fingers massage his hands with attention and devotion.

After a moment of pleasurable, long-missed silence that has filled Kiyoomi’s hotel room, Wakatoshi speaks again.

“Can I?” 

The touch on his hands is firmer, an unspoken gesture that conveys so much more than words. It’s subtle, so subtle, but Kiyoomi can feel it all too well, as he’s always been far too careful of what or who could touch his body and  _ tarnish  _ his skin if he didn’t pay attention enough. Yet again, Kiyoomi finds that he wouldn’t mind if Wakatoshi never let go.

He nods, granting permission as he fully knows what Wakatoshi intends to do.

The former Shiratorizawa student lets go of one of his hands and reaches for the bag that sits behind them on Kiyoomi’s bed. Kiyoomi can feel his skin uncomfortably prickle being suddenly deprived of the warm and comforting touch, but he tries to stay anchored to the feeling of the other hand still holding his palm, unfettered.

Wakatoshi grabs a bottle of skin cream, opens it only with his thumb and forefinger, as if he absolutely didn’t want to let go of Kiyoomi’s hand either, and pours a little amount on the back of the black-haired man’s hand. The sensation is cold, completely different from the affectionate touch he’s been used to for the past few minutes. 

Slowly, with all the care and attention possible, Wakatoshi starts applying the cream on the bruised reddened skin, drawing ghostly patterns and caressing the different parts of the hand. 

“You played well today.” 

Wakatoshi is speaking again, focused on his task as if it was of utmost importance, his eyebrows so slightly twitched and his face displaying seriousness and diligence. 

He’s being as methodical as ever in the process, starting at the fall of the wrist and spreading the product until the base of the fingers, then repeating the process with each of them as he continues to draw those strange relaxing patterns of his own invention.

Seeing all this dedication and care solely turned towards  _ him _ , Kiyoomi wonders how his body hasn’t been consumed yet with the fire that inhabits him. 

“We still lost.” Kiyoomi flatly answers. He knows Wakatoshi doesn’t seek to provide comfort in any way, he’s just being ridiculously honest here. “Your serves are as nasty as ever.”

“You still managed to bump every one of them.” 

A mere statement. Flashbacks from their middle school days come back to Kiyoomi. A smile threatens the corner of his lips.

“We all have our own monster in the team when it comes to serving.” Kiyoomi pauses for a moment, closing his eyes to focus on the amazing sensations the massage is providing him. He feels the cream penetrating his skin and easing the burning pain he didn’t know he could still feel. “An  _ annoying _ jerk of a monster, but still.”

Kiyoomi opens his eyes when he hears the faint laugh coming from Wakatoshi, only to find him smiling sweetly and shaking his head with tenderness. The touch on his hand gets slightly firmer, once again.

“You seem to have warmed up to this  _ jerk  _ a little _. _ ” The word sounds too unfamiliar in Wakatoshi’s mouth, too impolite and casual for the opposite hitter, and it makes Kiyoomi’s lips twitch slightly upward. “But not only with him.” A pause. “It’s good to see.”

Kiyoomi shrugs, feeling his ears redden and his body warming up. He’s always been weak to Wakatoshi praising him because he knows he’s just being honest and plain. When it comes to his skills in volleyball, he’s learned to receive the compliment and not be too flustered about it, but when his miserable social skills are the ones being praised, he’s still easily shaken.

Kiyoomi had realized that he had gotten better at relationships in general. He’s not as stiff, not as distant, not as  _ afraid _ . A slap in the back from Bokuto doesn’t make him nauseated anymore. A petty remark from Miya doesn’t anger him anymore. A jump from Hinata into his personal space doesn’t make him step backward anymore.

Wakatoshi certainly noticed this during the match, though it was even more evident during the dinner that took place afterward at the izakaya near the hotel, where the two teams shared a too-noisy meal in a too-narrow space. 

***

Kiyoomi hadn’t wanted to go out at first, firstly because he never wanted to go to these kinds of gatherings because they usually set all his senses on alert, and secondly because he just craved some time alone with his boyfriend. But Wakatoshi had somehow convinced him to go at least for the meal, and once they had gotten there, he had found that going out didn’t bother him as much as he had thought it would after all. He wasn’t alone with his boyfriend but he still got to sit next to Wakatoshi and enjoy their shoulders casually brushing against each other or the hand that softly landed on his thigh during the middle of the meal, once everyone was too caught up in lively discussions and non-responsible drinking to notice.

Their relationship wasn’t anything secret, but neither of them was fond of public display of affection to begin with, so they usually kept it under the radar for no other reason than their wish for privacy. 

For the occasion, Kiyoomi had brought his own meal and his own chopsticks, a thing that surprised no one but the waiters. Still, when Wakatoshi offered him to taste some food from his plate, he agreed to give it a try and let Ushijima guide the food to his mouth with his own chopsticks, under the scrutinized and stunned gaze of everyone. 

“Omi-omi!! Ya never do that with me!” Miya grumbled, sounding genuinely offended and Kiyoomi couldn’t believe it.

“It’s because you’re a pig, Miya,” he deadpanned, taking another bite of whatever Wakatoshi offered him. It didn’t taste bad. “Can you also not compare yourself to Wakatoshi-kun, it makes me sick just to hear it.”

“Omi-omi, so mean!! Why do ya call him by his first name, I wanna be called Atsumu-kun too!”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, choosing not to answer this time and risk falling into Miya’s endless trap of ridiculous complaints.

There was a time where he would have been bothered and angered by the familiarity and the lack of boundaries. Now he was just slightly annoyed, a feeling printed on his skin when it came to dealing with Atsumu Miya.

“Wakatoshi-kun!!” Kiyoomi’s eyebrows twitched hearing Miya’s annoying voice and far more annoying accent once again. No one should be able to call  _ his _ Wakatoshi by his first name but him. “Ya shouldn’t have privileges just because ya’re screwing our opposite hitter!” 

Kiyoomi glanced towards Ushijima, whose eyebrows furrowed in such a familiar and amusing way. 

“Isn’t privilege inherent to the idea of being someone’s partner though?” He asked while casually stroking Kiyoomi’s thigh underneath the table. 

Everyone around the table fell quiet as they realised he had just seriously answered to Miya’s foolish complaint, a genuinely confused frown visible on his face. 

“Don’t bother, Wakatoshi-kun,” Kiyoomi answered flatly while looking straight at Atsumu, his head resting against the palm of his hand. “Miya’s just mad because he hasn’t got laid in _ years _ .”

“Oh,” Wakatoshi answered, and his expression shifted slightly to show concern. “I’m sorry to hear that, Miya-san.”

If everyone was already laughing after hearing Kiyoomi’s blow, the genuine sorry and worry audible in Wakatoshi’s voice provoked a wave of hilarity that spread through the room, while a reddened Miya was trying as hard as he could to deny the claim that had just been made.

A small rare public smile on his face, Kiyoomi watched with adoration as Wakatoshi’s genuine confusion transformed into compassion as he was certainly feeling for the sexually frustrated poor lad in front of him, butterflies spreading through his belly. He wished they were in private so he could kiss his dumb head right now. But they weren’t not alone, so he just leaned a little on his left, resting against the other opposite hitter’s shoulder.

Sakusa Kiyoomi, leaning to someone in a search of physical contact. Sakusa Kiyoomi, craving for the touch of someone else.

Wakatoshi’s hand slipped from his thigh and wrapped it around the black-haired man’s waist, his hand softly gripping the fabrics of his pants.

After the izakaya, most of the members from both teams headed to another bar in search for more non-responsible drinking, a contest between the two teams having been seemingly launched during the meal. Only Wakatoshi and Kiyoomi decided to get back to their shared hotel room and enjoy a nice moment in private, comforted in their plan by the unwillingness of monitoring this bunch of idiots.

It was strangely nice, Kiyoomi thought as they headed back to the hotel room, and went straight to their room. Bokuto was supposed to be his roommate -the MBSY Jackal members were taking turns on this duty to provide a respectful roommate to their cherished neat freak-, but the latter had decided to go to his fiancee’s hotel. Kiyoomi had made a mental note to thank Akaashi next time they would meet.

***

So, yeah, if Kiyoomi could interact with his teammates like a functional human being now, it was because of Wakatoshi, he thinks as the man keeps hydrating and massaging his hands in silence. It’s because of Wakatoshi’s reassuring presence, constant efforts and sheer will to do  _ better  _ that rubs off on the misanthropic opposite hitter. 

That’s what Kiyoomi loves in Ushijima Wakatoshi. The quiet yet unshakable force, the introversion that feels all too similar but still hits different enough to push him toward something better. Ushijima Wakatoshi is a man of effort, even if it involves human beings instead of volleyball. He tries to understand others in spite of his clear lack of social abilities and the strict, lonely way he has been raised. But still, he tries, hard and genuine, sitting with others and listening to them talk about what they enjoy outside sports, about tv shows and fashion, about boys and girls they should date.

Wakatoshi tries, always, and seeing him, Kiyoomi yearns for the same achievement. Wakatoshi has always been the one to force him to step out of his boundaries, and sometimes it means they will end up sharing meals and moments that would still tire them as much as a five-set official match. 

Not that he would admit all of that aloud. It’s far too cheesy for his own good. Kiyoomi learned soon enough in his life that being bluntly honest was always funnier when it wasn’t about compliments.

“They’re my teammates,” he answers instead, focusing back on the present as he watched the cream disappear into his skin and heal the tissue. “You have to get used to it at some point.”

Wakatoshi hums in understanding. If he’s not convinced by the argument -and Kiyoomi thinks he isn’t because of the way Wakatoshi’s lips twitch slightly upward, apparently gently mocking Kiyoomi’s denial-, he doesn’t voice it. 

“It’s good,” Wakatoshi says after a few minutes. He’s done taking care of both hands, has rubbed them until the skin was dry and clean, leaving Kiyoomi with an intense feeling of contentment at the sight. Nevertheless, the brunette doesn’t let go of his hands. “Do you want to take a shower?”

Kiyoomi’s already showered twice today. Still, it’s simply the routine, a shower after each trip in the unkempt outside.

Yet again, he finds himself unable to move. He doesn’t  _ want _ to move, he doesn’t want to break out from the warm touch and the comforting presence he’s missed for weeks. 

Kiyoomi feels the ghost of a touch against his cheekbone and realizes Wakatoshi’s left hand has left his fingers to carefully brush his face. He raises his head, finding his boyfriend already watching him, a gleam of yearning and adoration visible in his olive eyes. He leans into the touch, granting unspoken permission as the hand’s movements become bolder, as the fingers slowly reach behind his neck to grip the skin tightly, as they thoroughly nudge the black-haired man’s head forward and he moves, meeting Wakatoshi halfway.

Kiyoomi’s more than happy to oblige, and the first touch of lips against lips sends a wave of electricity through his body. It’s a light kiss, a prude brush of flesh against flesh, and it’s not their first since their reunion. They’ve already had the opportunity to make out several times the day before and before the warm-ups earlier at the gymnasium, managing to find a quiet and deserted storeroom and feeling like horny teenagers again. 

Still, no matter how many times it happens, Kiyoomi always feels the dead weight that has crippled his whole life being lifted off. He enjoys the proximity to the fullest, craves physical contact, and yearns for rough touches. In that, Kiyoomi feels deep, undisclosed relief to find that he can be  _ functional  _ with the person he adores, the only person that actually matters.

Soon enough, Wakatoshi’s tongue finds its way to Kiyoomi’s mouth and they hungrily lap into each other’s cavities while the dark-haired man’s arms wrap around his boyfriend’s body and his smothered hands tightly grip the fabric of his shirt. 

Wakatoshi’s kisses have a way of making Kiyoomi lose his mind and forget about everything that doesn’t include his lover, feeling lightheaded and dizzy with happiness and excitement. He feels the menthol toothpaste taste of a man who is ready to brush his teeth ten times a day if it means he can kiss his germophobic boyfriend just once. But what was there to fear from a boy who knew how to properly wash his hand and fold his pocket hankie before they even met?

Their kissing session becomes more heated, Wakatoshi’s hands slowly coming under the jacket and shirt of Kiyoomi to find his abs, caressing the skin as gently as he did back then with his hands. His tongue leaps at the inside of his mouth and his teeth nibble nicely at his bottom lip. Kiyoomi’s hand desperately grips Ushijima’s brunette hair, not wondering how many germs are currently invading the skin. 

Not thinking about anything but the idea of Wakatoshi’s naked body pressed against his.

“I missed you,” whispers Ushijima after a languished kiss that has sent Kiyoomi’s blood straight to the lower part of his body, making the bulge inside of his pants grow uncomfortably. The black-haired man leans once again to kiss the breath out of his lover while toying with the hem of Wakatoshi’s shirt. “You’re beautiful.” 

It’s crazy, Sakusa Kiyoomi thinks in the haze of his yearning, how he is just so fucked and so foolishly in love with Wakatoshi Ushijima, how he’s been helplessly in love for years and managed to have this amazing man to agree on a date with him. Since then, he’s been nothing but in love with his genuineness, his gentleness, the decisive crease between his eyebrows and the gleam that appears in his eyes when he’s dedicated to something. 

He thinks about how he used to be smaller than Ushijima -only by 0,5cm but still-, but has proudly caught up and can now stand proud and tall alongside one of the strongest opposite hitters Japan’s got.

He thinks about how both of them are a force to be reckoned with and how he wishes sometimes they could play in the same team and trick their opponents.

Kiyoomi is so soft for him, so dedicated and engrossed in his feelings, that he’s become persuaded everyone on his team can see it and realize how disgustingly sloppy he is. They don’t say anything tough, even when they found him staring at the lock screen of his phone and smiling at a picture of Wakatoshi petting a stranger’s dog in Tokyo’s streets. A lock screen he’s had for at least a year.

“The shower can wait,” Kiyoomi answers, a slippery moan threatening to escape from his lips as Wakatoshi is now nibbling his throat, his hands becoming more daring minute by minute and threatening to adventure under the waistband of his pants. “Just- make me yours.”

He doesn’t want the warmth to disappear, not after finding it. Not after spending more than a decade foolishly running from it.

Kiyoomi feels the widening smile more than he sees it, as Wakatoshi’s head is buried at the crook of his neck, his lips pecking the skin. He wishes he could see this rare sight of Ushijima’s fond smile, but wonders if he wouldn’t die of stroking fever on the spot by doing so.

“I think you’re already mine, Kiyoomi.” 

Strangely enough, it doesn’t sound possessive or cocky for the least. It only comes from a mouth that only speaks the genuine truth and throws facts with a particular bluntness. Still, behind those words, Kiyoomi audibly discerns the fondness, the devotion, the mutual respect, and the utter love. 

It makes Kiyoomi smile in adoration, and surrender in wonder.

“Yes, I believe I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hoope you enjoyed it !!!
> 
> kudos and comments are deeply appreciated, i'd love to hear your thoughts rly (or screams)
> 
> my twitter if u wanna scream abt haikyuu!! every week : @Fate_Evance
> 
> just so ya know, im a (very) hard ushioi and sakuatsu shipper, can't wait to write again for those two ships (soon i promise), but ushisaku makes me soft at so I'll certainly write again for them


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